


Formative

by fairhearing



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Cop Fetish, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Humor, Light-Hearted, Love, M/M, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Police, Robots, Roleplay, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-24
Updated: 2012-02-24
Packaged: 2017-10-31 16:18:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/346066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairhearing/pseuds/fairhearing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the request: "Sulu is a cop and Chekov is his eager rookie partner"... OR IS HE???</p>
            </blockquote>





	Formative

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hollycomb](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=hollycomb).



> Originally written for the [teamgoldxchange](http://teamgoldxchange.livejournal.com/) fest, for [hollycomb](http://hollycomb.livejournal.com). :)

For once it was robots, not aliens, wreaking havoc on the unsuspecting _Enterprise_ crew.  
  
Well, not robots technically, Captain Kirk amended as he and Commander Spock walked Chekov down the corridor. A hyperintelligent super-computer, which had manifested itself to the away team via several quasi-humanoid self-locomotive robotic units, but "robots" sounded better.  
  
"You are sure they did not hurt him?" said Chekov. He was still feeling almost as panicky as he had an hour ago, when Kirk had commed the ship to report that the scouting team, led by Lieutenant Sulu, had been "kind of compromised."  
  
"Oh, yeah," said Kirk with a wave of his hand. "Physically, Mr. Sulu is perfectly fine. Mentally, too, for that matter. He's just... temporarily delusional."  
  
"We think the 2-II computer was trying to grant the away team perfect joy through mental manipulation," Spock explained. "It seems it attempted to shift each member's consciousness to the moment when he or she was happiest."  
  
"But?" said Chekov, still trying to control the unevenness of his voice, the twitchiness in his legs to dash to Sulu's quarters instead of walk.  
  
"But the technology wasn't exactly up to snuff," said Kirk.  
  
"Indeed. The shift in consciousness was to a random avatar-like persona instead."  
  
"Not completely random," Kirk pointed out as they rounded a corner. "To someone each of the team members indentified with, or wanted to be, or something like that. Guinto thought she was that little girl from 'Ramona and Beezus 2525,' and Sapati thought she was that holovid action lady with all the guns, what's her name."  
  
"'Bulletina,'" said Spock thoughtfully. "Still, Captain, as both officers still respond to their respective names, I find that an imprecise description of their condition."  
  
"But it's close enough. You saw Sapati with that awesome double-phaser-flip she was doing."  
  
"And it still may not explain the persona afflicting Mr. Sulu."  
  
"Which is?" interrupted Chekov at last, quietly fearful.  
  
They had reached Sulu's quarters.  
  
Spock and Kirk exchanged a look.  
  
"He calls himself 'Lieutenant Sulu,'" said Spock.  
  
Chekov blinked at him.  
  
" _Police_ Lieutenant Sulu," Kirk clarified. "As in public law enforcement, old America. We're guessing around the twenty-first century."  
  
"Does such a character sound familiar to you from Mr. Sulu's favored media, Ensign?" asked Spock.  
  
Dumbly, Chekov shook his head.  
  
"I kind of thought not," said Kirk with a sigh.  
  
"Please, sir," said Chekov, glancing at Sulu's door. "What is it you need me to do?"  
  
"Well, apparently this thing is really short-term -- inducing unconsciousness reverses the effects completely, right, Spock?"  
  
"So the doctor reported."  
  
"Bulletina got a little feisty when we tried to quarantine her," Kirk explained in an undertone. "And Guinto fell asleep on her own, so Sulu is kind of our last chance to learn more about how this technology works, for the official report."  
  
"We would like to know the genres these personae trend toward, how and why the afflicted found them formative, and so on," said Spock.  
  
"And... I am to ask him?" said Chekov.  
  
At this, Spock and Kirk looked surprised.  
  
"He repeatedly requested your presence by name," said Spock.  
  
"He won't talk to anyone else," said Kirk.  
  
Chekov bit his lip and glanced at the door.  
  
"Well, here goes," Kirk said, and began to key in the code.  
  
"Wait, sir," said Chekov. He swallowed. "I... would it be all right if I were to question Mr. Sulu on my own?"  
  
"By yourself?" Kirk raised his eyebrows, fingers paused on the door panel. "Why?"  
  
"I..." Chekov couldn't explain why, at least not without sounding hopelessly mushy. He didn't like the idea of the _Enterprise_ 's commanding officers sitting in and taking notes while his poor addled Hikaru unknowingly bore his heart about his childhood dreams, the police hero whom he no doubt idolized from his favorite picture books.  
  
Luckily Kirk seemed to understand.  
  
"Well," he said. "I guess it's all right. Maybe it'll even be more effective this way. You'll comm in case of any developments whatsoever? Any questions, concerns?"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"All right, well. Dr. McCoy gave me this, just in case." He handed Chekov a sedative hypo.  
  
"Do not hesitate to contact us, Ensign," said Spock.  
  
"Oh, and Chekov," said Kirk, before they left. "Can you ask him about where he got the...?" He gestured to his face, pointing at his eyes. "None of us can figure it out."  
  
"Yes, Keptin," said Chekov, mystified.  
  
When they were gone, Chekov took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and typed in the rest of the entry code.  
  
The lights were low in Sulu's quarters, and Chekov stepped in cautiously. He wasn't sure what he was expecting to see -- Sulu pacing the room with a bobby hat and a nightstick, or squirting tobacco into a spittoon, or whatever it was the characters did in those old Earth dramas Chekov could never keep straight.  
  
But there Sulu was, looking perfectly normal, standing at the window with his arms crossed and his back to Chekov. The sight of him, home and in one piece, made Chekov relax a dozen muscles he hadn't known he'd been tensing.  
  
"Hikaru," he said in relief.  
  
Sulu didn't respond.  
  
"Hikaru?"  
  
There was the smallest tilt of Sulu's head.  
  
"Hell of a time to switch to a first-name basis, Chekov," Sulu said to the window.  
  
"Oh," said Chekov, remembering. "Er. Lieutenant?"  
  
Finally Sulu turned around, and Chekov figured out what Kirk had been referring to. Sulu was wearing a large pair of old-fashioned mirrored sunglasses, aviator-style. They looked so incongruous against his command gold jersey that Chekov had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning.  
  
"Something wrong with 'sir' all of a sudden?" asked Sulu.  
  
"Oh. No. Sir."  
  
It had been nearly two years since he had called Sulu that, Chekov realized. Since the day Sulu first asked him out.  
  
"I, like your sunglasses, sir," he continued. "Where did you get them?"  
  
"This isn't the time for your comedy act," said Sulu -- a bit gruffly, realized Chekov, in a way that made the sunglasses suddenly seem very attractive on him. "Get in here."  
  
Slowly, Chekov obeyed, taking a seat on the end of the bed, the door hissing shut behind him.  
  
"You are... angry with me, sir?" he said, aware of the weight of the hypospray in his pocket.  
  
Sulu huffed out a disbelieving laugh as if in answer, bracing his hands on the transparent aluminum windowsill and staring out at the stars again.  
  
"What did I do?" said Chekov timidly.  
  
"Damn it, Chekov, you know what you did." Sulu spun around and snapped off his sunglasses. His eyes were dark, dangerous. "You did it again, ran right into the Armistead, when you knew -- you _knew_ \-- that they were armed and ready to kill. You get some kind of pleasure, putting yourself in the line of fire like that? Huh? You got a death wish?"  
  
"No," said Chekov, wide-eyed. He had no idea what a death wish was.  
  
Sulu growled and slammed the wall with his heel of his hand in frustration.  
  
"I am... your partner?" said Chekov after a minute.  
  
"Don't pull that on me," said Sulu, whipping his head around and narrowing his eyes. "You're still the goddamn rookie here. I tell you to stay in the squad car, you listen to me, understand? You don't go running into a hostage situation, risking your fucking life."  
  
"But, ah," said Chekov hesitantly, "surely that's the job of us... policers? In order to protect this city -- town -- of ours -- what's it called again, I've forgotten."  
  
For a minute Sulu just stared at him, and Chekov swallowed, fearing his own stupidity had broken the spell.  
  
But then Sulu cursed under his breath.  
  
"Damn it, Chekov," he said softly. He reached forward to tilt Chekov's chin up with one hand. "You -- have to know what you do to me."  
  
Swallowing thickly at this sudden turn of events, Chekov stared into Sulu's newly-hungry eyes and tried to remember what he was supposed to say.  
  
"Sir," was all he managed, and the feel of the word on his tongue sent a shiver through his entire body.  
  
Sulu yanked him up from the bed and kissed him roughly, backing him into the desk and squeezing his ass with both hands with a forcefulness Chekov had never seen in him before. All he could do was moan into it, shivering when Sulu nipped at his lips and gasping when he rubbed the beginnings of their erections together.  
  
"Wait," said Sulu, pulling back just before they started to properly grind. His voice was deep, husky, his weight pressing Chekov to the wall. Chekov stared at him through heavy lids, breathing hard and trying to remember that this was supposed to be an interrogation.  
  
"You still need to learn your lesson," Sulu continued, rubbing one fingertip lightly over the very center of Chekov's parted lips.  
  
"I do?" Chekov said -- or tried to say. It came out as a sort of breathy grunt the moment he tasted Sulu's skin.  
  
"You know what to do. Get those pants off."  
  
Chekov's eyes went round.  
  
"Get my... pants...?"  
  
"The lieutenant's going to discipline you now," said Sulu in a low voice. He might as well have still been wearing his sunglasses as he worked his hand between Chekov's legs, unbuttoning his fly.  
  
"I... Hikaru, is this..." Realization dawned slowly through the haze of arousal, but when it did, Chekov couldn't stop his expression of almost gleeful disbelief. "Is this a _porno_?"  
  
Sulu just shoved Chekov's pants down in reply.  
  
"Bed," he said roughly. "Hands and knees."  
  
Chekov spared one fleeting moment to consider the hypospray in the pocket of the pants that were now bunched around his ankles before making a decision.  
  
"Yes, sir," he said, in something like a whimper.  
  
He didn't know exactly what he was expecting once he was kneeling on the sheets, his knees parted with the weight of his erection and his briefs pulled down to his upper thighs, just enough to expose the swell of his ass. He was too busy trying not to drool at the feeling of Sulu's broad, warm hand smoothing softly over his skin to anticipate what was coming next. A hard, ringing slap.  
  
Chekov jerked forward in shock. "Ah!"  
  
Before he could even breathe, there was another slap, harder this time.  
  
"Hikaru!" gasped Chekov harshly, his eyes bugged wide and mind reeling as he tried to figure out whether this was an insult, an outrage, or somehow just extremely fucking hot. Just then Sulu yanked him over his knee and smacked his ass again, brutally, using the flat of his palm for the loudest clap possible, and Chekov cried out, then gasped as the sting prickled all over his skin in little aftershocks that had his cock leaking onto Sulu's pants.  
  
"Be quiet and take it," came Sulu's voice, deep and rough as his hand kneaded one of Chekov's asscheeks.  
  
When the next blow came, harder, louder, Chekov let out a sound halfway between a shout and a groan, humping down into Sulu's knee involuntarily as the heat spread across his ass.  
  
"Didn't you hear what I said?"  
  
"I-I -- yes --"  
  
"Yes, what?"  
  
"Yes, sir," whimpered Chekov, feeling his face go almost as hot as his ass at the words. Somehow it was so delicious, being this someone, someone who needed to call Sulu "sir" and be punished. The next slap had him arching up at the feeling of that hot sting and biting his lip to keep from moaning too hard, and then the next, and the next.  
  
By the time Chekov counted ten more, he was shivering with the effort to keep from blowing his load right there in Sulu's lap. He whimpered as Sulu soothed his skin with soft hands between blows, his fingers dragging roughly down to his perineum, between his asscheeks, Chekov's thighs spread so wide they seemed to be doing his begging for him. When Sulu circled that tight ring of muscle with one finger Chekov shouted, feeling like he could come just from that touch.  
  
"Please, sir!" he cried. "Please, I need --"  
  
"Need to be fucked?" murmured Sulu, leaning down and whispering it hotly into his ear.  
  
"Nng, _bozhe_ , God, yes --"  
  
Sulu somehow remembered where the lube was kept in their room, or precinct, or wherever the hell they were supposed to be. Chekov didn't care anymore: he started bucking back before Sulu had even pushed in fully, desperate for Sulu's cock and for the slap of skin-on-skin against the sore flesh of his ass. Sulu, though, gripped Chekov's hands in his own and leaned down again, covering him completely, holding him still.  
  
"You a virgin, baby?" he asked softly.  
  
"Yeah, yes," Chekov whimpered mindlessly, arching his back. It felt that way, like he was fifteen again, or like it was two years ago and he and Sulu had fallen into bed together with the movie they were supposed to be watching still playing on the vidscreen. But now Sulu surprised him by turning him over and winding Chekov's arms around his shoulders, pulling Chekov's legs around his waist.  
  
"This way, then." He licked Chekov's bottom lip as he pushed in again, and Chekov let out a high, reedy whine.  
  
He already knew he wasn't going to last long, and sure enough, as soon as Sulu started fucking him properly Chekov was coming, clawing at Sulu's shoulders and shooting come all over his own stomach with a desperate cry.  
  
"Ah, fuck yeah, baby, like that," groaned Sulu, tipping his head back and speeding up at the sight. Chekov, his arms stretched above his head now, could only moan breathlessly, the sound broken up with the rhythm of Sulu's thrusts.  
  
"Gonna be so good to you, baby, I promise --"  
  
"Ohh, Hikaru, yes --"  
  
"Ahh, yeah, _fuck_ ," Sulu growled, sinking balls-deep and surging forward to pin Chekov to the bed, almost crushing the breath out of him with his orgasm, his hips jerking as he filled Chekov with come.  
  
Afterward, holding Sulu in place and panting with his eyes closed, it took Chekov a minute to remember what Sulu tended to do immediately after sex.  
  
"Sir?" he said, craning his head a little to find Sulu's ear.  
  
He received a soft snore in reply.  
  
"Oh," said Chekov. "Oops."  
  
***  
  
"Umm, yes, we made no progress, I'm afraid," he told Kirk two hours later, fidgeting with his communicator.  
  
***  
  
Sulu awoke feeling -- interesting. A little achy, but somehow incredibly good at the same time. He stretched and yawned, furrowing his brow a little as he looked around his quarters. He could have sworn he was still down on the planet, scouting the eastern continent -- but whatever, he was probably just still sleepy and couldn't remember the trip up.  
  
He shuffled to the bathroom to brush his teeth, and he was rinsing when Pavel walked up and hugged him from behind.  
  
"Good morning!" he said, sounding as happy as Sulu felt.  
  
"Mm, morning," said Sulu with a grin, nosing his way backward to kiss the top of Chekov's head. "You're chipper today."  
  
"Yes, I feel very good. Hikaru, you know what I think we should talk about?"  
  
"What?" said Sulu, refilling his glass.  
  
"Porn."  
  
Sulu straightened up so suddenly that he spilled water on his foot.  
  
"Porn?" he said with a laugh, getting a washcloth. "Just like -- in general?"  
  
"Well, yes, but really no." Chekov was sitting on the counter, swinging his legs and looking casual. "I think we should talk about, specifically, our favorite porns from when we were young, that we found, you know, formative."  
  
"Uh," said Sulu as he filled up his glass again.  
  
"I think it would be sexy!"  
  
"I guess." Sulu seriously doubted Chekov wanted to hear about how he'd watched "Police Precinct 6969" so often as a teenager that the data chip actually wore out, but who knew. "Later, though, okay?"  
  
"Okay," said Chekov, beaming, and Sulu grinned before kissing him on the nose.  
  
"In that case, I would like to talk about spanking," said Chekov, right when Sulu was taking a sip; and he actually had the nerve to look shocked at the spray of water he got in reply.


End file.
